


Fire, From the Ashes

by JuHuaTai



Series: Phoenix!AU [2]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Actual Phoenix!Marco, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Banishment, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, M/M, Multi, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 07:22:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23967592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuHuaTai/pseuds/JuHuaTai
Summary: [Sequel to 'Gratitude of the Phoenix']2 years after Phoenix’s passing, a group of humans managed to find their way into the sacred Temple of Moby Dick. One of them in particular, had in his possession Phoenix’s ashes. Marco’s ashes. What is left of the exiled son, whose absence still left behind immense guilt like a fresh wound even centuries later.Whitebeard lost it.
Relationships: Fushichou Marco | Phoenix Marco & Shirohige | Whitebeard | Edward Newgate, Fushichou Marco | Phoenix Marco/Portgas D. Ace
Series: Phoenix!AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1689997
Comments: 32
Kudos: 243





	1. To Bring You Home

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe the fact that i downed like a few glasses of mead before writing should be warning in case nothing here makes sense, but like, honey and spiced meads are so good i’m now a wine enthusiast convert. 
> 
> And i’m sorry in advance for splitting this up into two and that there’s just mostly lore flashbacks in this first chap, but there’s so much i want to expand on and even leave little hints as to why and what happened in the original story, for example like why did Marco’s healing worked instantly on everyone but Ace which is definitely not plot convenience, or why Ace was an orphan (which i think after just the first 2-3 paragraph of this chapter will kinda make sense to people), that the guy who hurt him wasn’t a random allusion to original series, just basically i love supernatural gods and humans AUs and i’m rambling, just please read on, ignore this, i just hope you guys will enjoy above all.

“I envy them,”

The cup that’s halfway to Roger’s lips stilled, and the dark haired god quirked a confused brow, “Huh?”

Whitebeard’s own cup of ambrosia was abandoned between them at this point, his eyes only focused on the pond placed under the patio overlooking the land around Temple of Moby Dick. It’s surface reflected the world itself, of the humans going about their lives day and night. The god of earth slouched, supporting his head with one hand propped against his thigh, “You ever feel like that, Roger? Humans, their lives are so short and insignificant compared to ours, yet it’s full of purpose and companionship,”

On the corner of his eyes, Whitebeard could see Roger putting down his cup, the clear, yellow tinted liquid inside sloshing against the glass container, “Uh,” he said, eloquently, flushed cheeks informing his larger friend that perhaps he chose the wrong time to utter the question. It wasn’t often that he friend would lament about this, but then, they had been drinking ambrosia since the sun was still visible. Now, Borsalino’s bright rounds in this hemisphere has ended, and to be replaced by Kuzan’s sleepy nights, where Whitebeard is sure the god of night would simply let pass in slumber. He could see it even here in his dwelling, the two gods exchanging lazy waves to each other from beyond the clouds, concealed from any human eyes.

“So, yer lon’ly, or sumthin’?” With slurred words, Roger blinked up blearily, moustache as dark as night sky twitching, “Well, i’m here, Beardy boy, what are friends for? If yer still feelin’ like that, i’ll get Rayleigh up here too. Hell knows he needs ta loosen up now and again,”

He highly doubted that the Underworld gatekeeper will react too well with this invitation to shirk work - which Roger is already doing plenty himself - even if that is what Whitebeard meant. In the end, Whitebeard shook his head, knowing that there is no way he’s getting his point across like this, “Nothing, old friend, forget i said anything. Let’s just drink the night away,”

They drink well until it was almost the end of Kuzan’s shift in this hemisphere, and the conversation turned lighter: Roger’s responsibility as the god of underworld and whining about boredom over the decades worth of peace, of the new development above ground, and all the while steering clear of any more conversation about humans.

Before leaving, staggering and wobbling, Roger clasped one hand on his shoulder, and stared at him with clearer eyes than one would expect a drunkard to have, “We’re gods, Whitebeard,” he muttered solemnly, “We are needed to keep the balance of the universe. There are things that it’s best that we got over quick, before it consumes us,”

After he left, Whitebeard still sat on the patio overlooking the pond, half watching the reflection of a human city coming to life as he wondered if Roger himself has had the same thought as him.

* * *

A war breaking out is nothing out of the ordinary since the first humans appeared, but it would seem that Sakazuki, the god of war had been more agitated than usual. The land, Whitebeard’s domain was badly damaged, forest decimated by fire and land destroyed by artillery, which angered him enough to step in. Days and night filled with waged wars of both humans and gods, and it wasn’t until Sengoku, the chief god and god of balance himself stepped in, was it truly over.

Whitebeard returned to his temple wounded, feeling every bit of hit Sakazuki managed to get in while smugly recalling all the times he slammed the arrogant god’s face first to the earth. A few cups of ambrosia would have been his choice of recuperation, if he didn’t take a quick look at his pond to oversee the aftermath and felt regret. Humans wounded and lost their lives, and suffering rising amongst them. All for what? Some gods’ pride?

With a long sigh, he sat down by the pond, watching all the sight it gave him guiltily.

It was subconscious, he would later recall, when pictures of newly orphaned children and mothers crying over their sons and husbands began to appear. He wanted to help, to restore not only the land but also the humans, to right what he did wrong. To heal them and bring back balance.

From his hands, gripped tightly together in his lamentation, warmth began to seep inside. Whitebeard frowned, surprised he let himself loose control enough for his power to act on its own, something that only ever happened to young, inexperienced gods. But filled with intrigue, he let it happen and slowly, carefully, began to unclasped his hands’ tight hold.

In between his now upturned palm, was a small object that bear resemblance to an egg, its size almost half the size of his palm. The shell was opaque and hard, yet the colour was the softest blue he has ever seen. Warmth seeped out of it, still as calm water, but there was an undeniable beat of life from inside of it, one he could so easily sensed.

Speechless, Whitebeard could only stared at it. Did he made this egg?

He wasn’t left wondering long, all thoughts pushed away when the egg suddenly jolted to the side, almost upturning in his palm and rolling to the ground below. In panic, he scrambled to hold the egg tighter, cupping his palms and making a barrier around the oval object. The egg twitched again, not quite as powerfully, and it took Whitebeard to see small crack beginning to form around its surface for him to realize that whatever is inside of it is trying to get out.

The crack widened even more, and bits and pieces of the sell began to fall out, creating small holes of which he couldn’t quite peeked inside to see what exactly is inside of this egg. More shells began to fall, and when the egg seems to roll around agitatedly, the inhabitant unable to free itself fast enough, Whitebeard finally decided to lend a hand by carefully using his finger to nudge down already forming cracks to make it even easier to break down.

At long last, the first thing that appear was an unmistakable bird talon, followed closely by blue feathers that looks soft to the touch. The colour shimmers under the ray of light from the setting sun, and it took Whitebeard’s curious poke to realize it didn’t even feel like feather at all. It reminded him instead of being in Roger’s domain, of the muted fire that kept the place illuminated and unable to harm him.

Another talon popped out, both appendage swinging in the air frantically trying to get a grip, and despite all the pain and confusion, it made Whitebeard gave a booming laugh. At the sound of his voice, the flailing talons stopped, before swinging again with greater momentum. Finally, they rolled themselves enough to land on his palm, and now, he has an egg with little sharp legs in hand, waddling around in circle in apparent confusion.

“Oh, i don’t think you’re quite done, little fella,” he chuckle, bringing up one finger to tap the top of the egg shell, where it’s still quite smooth and bearing no damage, “Up here. Break it up here and let me take a look at you,”

The egg stopped circling his hand, and soon, he could feel it struggle from the inside. He helped it again by knocking on the side of the shells, forming bigger crack than its own effort could, and before long, suddenly a head popped out, a fuzzy and rounded head that bore resemblance to that of a baby chick. It was blue all over, a few shade darker than its egg, but it was softer than even the finest silk in land. The little odd bird leaned unto the two fingers Whitebeard used to touch it, little high pitched chirps sounding like noises of happiness.

“Aren’t you the cutest little thing,” the god rumbles pleasantly, and began to poke around the rest of the shell encasing the bird’s body to free it completely. The bird stared up at him with big round eyes, the colour bright like the glacier on top of the coldest mountains. Once the rest of the egg finally fell off, it reveals more of the blue, wispy feathers, with tinges of yellow at its edge the same as the little speck of colour on top of the bird’s head, “Now, what might you be, hmm? I didn’t mean to make you, but i wouldn’t say i wasn’t glad that i did, little one,”

The odd bird shook in his hand, giving little tweets and coos as it observed its surrounding. Large eyes zeroed in on a cut on his palm, one that happened as he tried to catch Sakazuki’s magma hot fist. It gave a low coo, almost sombre, and waddled over to it with purpose. Whitebeard watched curiously as the little chick moved around the wound, its little feathery butt lifted up facing him as he felt soft feathers spreading across his wound, “Now, don’t do that, you’ll dirty yourself—“

But suddenly, there was a coldness spread right on top of the wound, like spring water flowing into the river. Whitebeard took a sharp, hitched breath in surprise, eyes widening even more when the little bird bounced away with little cheeps to reveal a completely healed space on his palm, as if he wasn never hurt in the first place.

The muscle bound god stared at his healed palm and then to the little bird, who has now flopped itself clumsily over another wound in his palm, this one smaller but deeper than the last. Its feather seemed to glow where it touches his blood, and Whitebeard could now see it pecking out its own short and fluffy feather to put above the cut. It was silent, but he could see it struggling in pain with every peck it gave itself.

Quickly, Whitebeard lifted the little bird up from his palm with his other hand, and it quickly twittered in loud protest, “None of that now, you’re hurting yourself,” he gently admonished it, while taking a subtle peek at his palm. The cut was partially healed, with signs of scabbing from where he interrupted the baby chick’s healing.

Ah, that must be why. He had been thinking about healing his land and bringing back balance when his power suddenly went out of control. This little bird here must’ve been created from that guilt by his frayed control, and thus it was born with the power to heal.

“I don’t need healing, little one,” he told the little chick gently, “It is humans who do, after all the suffering we caused,”

Little chirps were quickly silenced by his words, and it was huge rounded eyes that spoke of intelligence staring back that told Whitebeard the little bird understood. In the back of his head, he could feel a tug of another emotion, one that felt like a part of him yet so foreign he knows it did not come from him. It was disagreement and urge to help yet still polite understanding, tinged heavily with joy and wonder for the world around.

He took another look at the bird, and understood where it came from.

“I think i should name you, my child, since i am the one who made you,” he told the bird, running one finger carefully from the top of its head to the short yet deceptively sharp beak, “Phoenix. Yes, you are Phoenix. The child of Whitebeard, the god of earth, healer of the nations, who will bring peace and happiness back to war torn countries,”

* * *

“So you laid an egg and had a bird son,”

It was a couple of decades later when he met Roger again. The aftermath of the war between Whitebeard and Sakazuki was barely done when famine arrives due to the destruction of farms and fields, which kept him busier than Whitebeard was in restoring the land’s health. The earth god caught him in the middle of moaning about the end of sorting out new souls entering his domain, the now significantly more mature Phoenix perched on his shoulder, his now constant companion.

Whitebeard glowered at Roger for the comment, which went unnoticed to the other god while he curiously played around with the bird. Phoenix, on his part, avoided Roger’s hand with much protest and even pecked on the offending finger none too gently. Not that it deterred the god in the slightest, “I did not ‘laid’ him, Roger,” the blond god groused, “I accidentally created an egg that resulted in him,”

“Same difference,” the god waved off distractedly, relentless in his effort to touch Phoenix, “Aw, come on, you look so pretty, lemme just— Ow!”

For a second, Whitebeard thought that Phoenix managed to get in a good hit, when he noticed that while flinching, Roger was holding on to his side, “You’re hurt? Did something happened?”

“Ugh, it’s a damned human, would you believe it,” the god waved him off, but the pain was still evident in his visage, “One of my underling accidentally left the gate leading here open and he must’ve snuck in then. Managed to even steal one of my artefacts too and then get a hit in on me when i found him. Almost beat him to a pulp before he escaped because of _my_ artefact,”

Whitebeard frowned with concern, “A human managed to steal your artefact? Roger, this is serious. Have you alerted anyone about this yet?”

“Told Sengoku about it, which is good since the bastard thought i was the one who attacked Shanks a few months ago. Is he serious? Shanks was my protege, and like hell i’m going to hurt the god of wine of all people,”

He is also the god of peace, whose power was probably weakened due to the recent war, “Is he alright?”

Roger only scoffed, which is already a good news, “He’s _Shanks,_ the little bastard just laughed at my face and was already drunk when i visited,” he shook his head dejectedly, finally retracting his hand just in time to avoid another one of Phoenix’s vengeful pecks to put it on his wounded side, “Still, that human made out with my dark fruit. It may be too strong for him to survive eating it, but if he did, he will gain my power for darkness and banishment. I didn’t imbue it with enough to overpower gods, but if he started targeting other humans, it could be devastating,”

In the grim silence that followed, neither of them were paying much attention to Phoenix, who fluttered close by to Roger despite his initial rejection to the man’s advances. Whitebeard only noticed when he heard a little pained coo, to see that the bird had once again pecked himself and plucked out a single feather, leaving a trail of clear blood leaking down. He held it with his beak while staring quizzically at Roger’s garb, “Ah, that’s right. Why don’t you let Phoenix heal you, Roger?”

Roger was snapped out of his grim reverie, and glanced down to the bird now by his side, “What’s this now?” He tried to reach down again, perhaps thinking that he could touch Phoenix easier in this distance, and almost pouted when he was dodged again.

“Phoenix can heal you,” Whitebeard told him, his smile fond despite his conflicted feeling, “His feathers held his life essence, which he could then give to others and heal them with. And he had this tendency to care for anyone who is hurting, even when the process hurts him in return,”

He noticed this during the first few days of Phoenix’s appearance, when Whitebeard fell asleep to recuperate and unbeknownst to him, little chick has sneaked into his chamber and began healing him. He woke up to Phoenix barely able to move, body littered with self-inflicted wounds but happily chirps and twitters as if proudly showing him what he had done.

The realisation over the source Phoenix’s power had worried Whitebeard greatly. He heals himself by the end of it, the wounds scabbing and reverting to iridescent feathers after a while, but that was the last time he allowed Phoenix to heal him anymore. As Phoenix began to grow older, the more protective he became of his child.

Back to the present, Roger hesitantly shrug off his garb and lifted the undershirt beneath, revealing a pulsing wound that signified the damage had been caused by ascended beings. Phoenix was of a single mind as he lowered the feather on his beak over the wounds, cooing gently as the feather dissolved and immersed itself into the open injury. Slowly, the skin began to stitch itself back, and while it was nothing new to Whitebeard anymore, it was entertaining to see the open wonder and surprise in Roger’s face.

At least, until the skin stopped crawling back to its normal state, leaving more than a half of the injury still the way it is.

Phoenix was the first to react, cawing loudly in apparent distress. Whitebeard voiced out the thumping irritation, surprise and panic that suddenly formed in the back of his head, the tugging alert that he has since understand if the connection between himself and the creature of his creation, “How odd, he should’ve been able to heal you completely,”

Without warning, suddenly Phoenix pecked himself yet again, pulling not only one but a few feathers along. Whitebeard sat up in alarm and raised a hand to stop the distressed avian from hurting himself too much, when Roger placed a hand on top of Phoenix’s head, grinning, “You’ve got some nifty power there,” he said cheerily, “But i’m sorry to say that powers of healing and those affecting the living isn’t quite as effective to those of the undead like myself. It’ll take a lot out of you to heal me,”

Phoenix looked dejected - and Whitebeard could feel his disappointment bubbling deeply in him - opting to say instead, “That’s news to me,”

“Myself or Rayleigh, any of the underlings and demigods under our commands, those whose realm dwells in the underworld, we are unaffected by those up there around your domain, Whitebeard,” Roger told him, hand now moving from Phoenix’s head to his long neck. He seems to revel in being able to touch the soft feathers, “Same way i couldn’t quite affect the living unless gods of time like Toki and Oden decided it is their time to visit me. Which gives me an idea,”

The hand on Phoenix’s neck stilled, as Roger’s other hand began to glow darkly, flickering in the already dim air. Dark wisp formed on his palm, moderate in size, which he brought close to Phoenix, “I see that despite your own pain, you are very determined to help others. This fire here is one of purification for this realm, that cleanses a lost and vengeful soul so that it could enter without bringing any worldly grudge with it. If it touches a living being, it’ll kill them instantly and send their soul to me, but for you, i’ll made it so it’ll only heal you the same way you heal others, lessening your own burden,”

With a grand gesture, the dark haired god laid his fiery hand on Phoenix, and just through a single breadth of contact, Whitebeard could see the bleeding spot on Phoenix’s torso has closed up, faster than the bird’s usual speed of healing. He held his breath as Roger held the fire even closer to the other lesions, Phoenix’s thrilling wonder that resonated inside of his head the only thing stopping him from acting at all.

Until, something unexpected happened.

Phoenix suddenly gave a sharp screech, the same time as shock slams into Whitebeard’s mind. With a burst of blue, yellow and near dark flames, suddenly where the bird once stood was now a struggling child with a head of gold, eyes squeezed shut and mouth open in a scream that turned from beastly to that of a human cry.

Roger stumbled back with a surprised shout, and almost fell on his behind when Whitebeard pushed him away in panic, “Phoenix!” the god bellowed, eyes wide as he stared at the human child that suddenly took the place of his own, “What— why—Roger!”

“I don’t know what happened, i swear!” the realm’s ruler hastily blurted, glancing between the child and the fire in his hand, “Did i mess it up?! Oh for crying out loud, i just want to heal up Phoenix in return, i didn’t mean to turn him into a human child! How the hell did that even happen?!” he fell onto his knee, just before the now hiccuping and wailing Phoenix, “Oh dear, oh dear, i am so sorry, i didn’t know combining my power with yours will cause this, d-don’t cry! Arghh, i don’t know anything about kids, i’m never having one! Here, h-here, let dear old uncle Roger look at that— Oof!”

He stumbled back again, thankfully not to the point of slamming the back of his head on the ground when with another burst of colourful flames, a familiar wing now jutted out from where the child’s right arm was supposed to be and smacking Roger on the face with a resounding slap.

* * *

Phoenix had been the first and last of his own progeny, but his existence reminded Whitebeard of what it was he was missing; companionship.

Centuries passed and as humans grew rapidly in number, the lesser do the gods received the same reverence given by their ancestors. The devastation brought by the human who stole Roger’s fruit artefact serves only to raise fear amongst humans of the unknown, and slowly, they began to cast out those amongst them they believed to be different and thus feared. The first to ever seek refuge in the Temple of Moby Dick, not realizing that it had been the dwelling of a god, had been a demigod himself, a man who is capable of turning his skin into diamond.

Left to die on the steps of the temple, it had been Phoenix who brought him in and tended to him, and Whitebeard had allowed him to live in his court. Never learning of his own origin or the reason for his power, he devoted himself to keeping the earth god company and train his power in hopes that one day he could walk amongst the humans again.

The next few had been more or less the same: The dead cook who was brought to life by a necromancer who feared his own creation and tried to kill him again, the aspiring swordsman who was almost burned on a stake for being a witch, the half-bull ridiculed for his appearance, the swift half-dwarf who ran away from an abusive human family, the half mer who was brought to his doorsteps by Jinbe, the god of ocean, after it spread between all the higher gods that Whitebeard was taking in stray demigods.

“These demigods,” Phoenix said suddenly one night, as they sat on the patio overlooking the pond. His thin little legs dangled over the ledge, eyes holding the sharpness and wisdom that told of something older than his physical appearance, that of a teenage boy, “They’re still human too, right? So why did the other humans chase them away?”

“Because humans could only accept what is familiar to them,” Whitebeard told him, gesturing to the pond. Its reflection showed what he had been trying to see before, just as Phoenix intruded on him. The new arrival today was not a demigod but a half-fae, whose kind had suffered since the growth of human population caused their habitat in the forest to be destroyed and their kind to disappear quickly.

The pond showed him how the half-fae, Izou, had been the last of his village before being brought to the Temple of Moby Dick. He and his sister, Kikunojo had tried to lived within the human city once, only to be chased out when their identity was revealed by a jealous wife whose husband continue to obsess over the younger sister, “Humans are rotten, Phoenix,” he warned the child, “many years before, the day you were born, i blamed myself and other gods recklessness for their suffering,”

The sight on the pond shifted again, of Izou being separated from Kikunojo during their escape. He had used himself as a distraction from the chasing mob, allowing the younger to escape. Whitebeard saw Phoenix flinch as their new resident was beaten up and left for death, if it wasn’t for Heracles, the wandering plant god finding and bringing him here, “Yet, none of these actions were influenced by anyone at all. These are all the humans’ doing. No Sakazuki to incite war in their minds, or any other god’s handiwork,”

Phoenix bit his lower lips, staring down to his lap, “There has to still be some good humans out there,”

Whitebeard only gave a noncommittal hum, not quite committing to agreeing or disagreeing. He thought that was the end of it, but he could still see Phoenix’s hand fidgeting on his lap, and even after being alive for so long, he always forgot just how young his child still is, “What is it, Phoenix? You look like you want to say somet—“

“I want to see what’s out there,”

Those words stilled Whitebeard.

After the increasing number of demigods being attacked by humans, it was a consensus amongst the gods to leave humans to their own affairs. Whitebeard is one of the stronger support of this notion, after watching his lands ravaged without any thought and the increase of demigods within his protection. He forbade anyone from leaving the temple and the area under his protection for their own good, and in so far, everyone who had come to his care had agreed.

Until now.

“Phoenix, there is nothing—“

“There has to be!” the blond child suddenly stood up, “I’ve heard stories from the others. They said that even though a lot of humans treated them poorly, there are still so many kind ones, even those who helped after knowing what they are. And some of those humans needs help too, the kind of help i can give,” just to emphasis his meaning, Phoenix transformed both his human arms into his bird form, spread wide then brushing the ground, “And i want to help too,”

Whitebeard pursed his lips and shook his head, “They don’t deserve your help, my son. Humans are evil,”

“But what if there are those who aren’t?” Phoenix pressed on, “We’ve helped suffering demigods as much as we could, what if there are also humans who are suffering, that we didn’t help because they’re not the same as _us_? Won’t that make us, deities and heavenly beings, the same as these humans?”

Whitebeard was left speechless.

His fear for letting Phoenix go does not simply lie in his disdain for human nature, it was fear and paranoia stemming from what humans would do to his son. If they knew the kind of power he held…

He shudders just thinking about it.

In the back of his mind, he could feel Phoenix’s determination and insistence, his silent wish to not only keep his words but also how much he wanted to see the world outside, “You called me the healers of nations when you named me,” Phoenix said again, the same time as determination pulsed inside of Whitebeard from the connection he had with his progeny, “I need to be out there, to heal and help, as you had made me to do,”

The urge to simply end this conversation by commanding Phoenix to forget this conversation was overwhelming. It was for his own good to order him to stay, to never leave and invite danger.

Yet, at the same time, it would be a lie to say that his words does not incite something in Whitebeard, the old sympathy and fondness towards humans who roam his earth.

“Never reveal who you are to any human,” he said in the end, stern despite feeling amused by the outpouring joy and relief resonating from Phoenix’s emotion in his head, “Never form any connection with any human. Walk amongst them as a human, and return here again as my son every fortnight. And no matter what you do, do not bring any human back to this place. A god’s dwelling is no place for humans,”

He hadn’t even finished talking when Phoenix half glide half leapt onto his embrace, chanting thank-yous repeatedly and joyously. Whitebeard felt doused with his happiness, both in his embrace and in the pulsing emotion reverberating in his head.

“You’ll need a human identity,” he said once the excitement was over, “A name that will let you blend in with humans,”

It didn’t even surprise Whitebeard when Phoenix nodded and almost shyly said, “I thought of it. My name stood out between everyone else’s so we talked about giving me a human name so i won’t be the odd one out. We chose one yesterday,”

The camaraderie that formed between Phoenix and the demigods always filled Whitebeard’s heart with happiness. Maybe he hadn’t been the only one looking for companionship too, “Is that so? And what is this name?”

A proud grin appeared on Phoenix’s face, almost childishly so, “Marco. My human name is going to be Marco,”

* * *

It was a mistake that cost him dearly, Whitebeard would lament for hundreds of years later, as he does every day since that fateful day, the very last day he saw his son’s back, walking away until he was no more.

Marco was, even after thousands of years, an idealistic at heart. It was the nature he was born with, out of his father’s grief and sorrow for humanity. At the cost of his own pain, he will heal others, keeping his promise in finding those he deemed just and good and safe them from the brink of death. He had come to love living as a human, Whitebeard knows, having sensed it in his emotion. He found them intriguing, and slowly found himself loving them.

It was the love that almost brought destruction to their kin, and he had to pay dearly for.

He had come across a dying human, beaten to a pulp with no one miles away, and just as all hope seems lost, he had saved the human. Out of his worry, instead of simply bringing the man to the nearby village, Marco had stayed and listened to the man’s heartbreaking story. Lost with no home to go back to, and not knowing any purpose in life. The man had been so kind as well, offering to pay what is left in his meagre possession, that his kindness touched the demigod’s heart.

Blinded by his newfound fondness of them, Marco decided to commit the biggest transgression of all: He brought the human into the Temple of Moby Dick, in hopes that his father and brethren could also see the wonders for humans the same way he had.

What were the chances, that the human he brought back had been the same human who stole Roger’s artefact hundreds of years ago? Angered by gods and deeming them unfair, he had seek to destroy each one, and found immense power in stealing one of the gods of underworld’s possession. He used his power to terrorise other humans in hopes to lure the attention of gods, and when no one answered, he spread words of their dismissal, deeming it foolish to worship gods as benevolent beings.

Marshall Teach, he had proudly proclaimed his name, the moment he stepped into the Temple of Moby Dick and his first act was to attacked the closest demigod. Thatch had barely escaped with his un-life, and not even the combined strengths of the rest of the demigods managed to defeat him. It took Whitebeard himself to finally take him down for good, and from his devastated corpse, the dark coloured fruit he consumed hundreds of years ago lay still.

Though never one to interfere with others affair, different gods gathered that day to witness the end of the human who brought so much suffering. Roger’s fruit was returned to him, but not without a penalty for what Sengoku and the rest of the gods deemed to be his own negligence. Whitebeard could only watch as his friend was striped away from his power and was left barely a demigod for the next 2000 years. Rayleigh, Roger’s ever faithful right hand man, could only watch with stiff lips as Roger left for what none of them know would’ve been the last they’d seen him except for Whitebeard and Rayleigh.

Yet, for as stoic as Whitebeard seems, all of his composure broke the moment judgement was to be brought to his own child.

“You invited a human to the courts of gods, Phoenix,” Sengoku’s voice boomed in the tense silence, “The only appropriate punishment is death,”

Whitebeard had pleaded, ignoring all dignity and courtesy as he fell onto his knee in front of the multitudes of other gods, those whose station is equal or below his. None of that mattered, not in the face of his son’s death penalty, “Spare his life, and punish me if you must,” he had offered, despite all of the protest of the demigods in his protection, in which Marco’s was the loudest, “I am the one who allowed him to leave and live amongst humans, let the punishment fall unto me,”

And indeed, the punishment fell onto him.

For what is a worse pain for a father than to banish his own son, leaving him to certain doom and never to see him again?

* * *

For 2000 years since, Whitebeard wasn’t sure what he regretted more: That he never fought harder in that court, or that he ever allowed Marco to leave in the first place.

If he had never allowed Marco to leave, he would not have invited Marshall Teach back into the Temple of Moby Dick. If he had never allowed Marco to leave, it would never have lead to his banishment. If he had never allowed Marco to leave, then he wouldn’t have to forever stare at his pond, hoping he could catch a glimpse of his son and cursing the limitation placed into his pond to never find Marco again as a part of his punishment. If he had never allowed Marco to leave, then he wouldn’t have to be tormented every day knowing the depth of his son’s loneliness with every passing day in his mind, and is slowly tortured with knowing he could not comfort him.

If he had never allowed Marco to leave that day, perhaps Marco wouldn’t have died.


	2. To Bring You Back Home To Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, reading chapter 1 with hangover: I have no memory of this, and yet i also do.

For days, he had been gripped with great unease.

It had first happened something 20 odd years before, when what was supposed to be the end of Roger’s sentence approach, yet instead of the god himself, it had been Rayleigh who came to visit with a grim look and a piece of letter. Addressed to both of them, it entails a story of his temporary exile, of how, in the recent years approaching the end of his punishment, he had come to do something that one once thought was impossible.

The netherworld god had fallen for a human woman, and it was due to his love for her and their unborn child that he wished to forsake his godhood and stay with her as a human.

Before Whitebeard could even sort out his own reaction and feeling for this turn of event - another one of his loved ones, taken away by humans, no matter how happy Roger had sounded like - somewhere along the way, it had all gone so wrong. Rayleigh returned not long after with dire news, that Roger had returned despite his letter. He told of a war, started by humans, in which in his desperation to save the woman he loved, Roger had to reveal his true nature and safe her and the village they had resided in.

Yet, it was all for naught. The woman died nonetheless, not in the hands of the enemy but those humans who he wanted to protect. They feared him, feared the woman who bore his child, and even fear an innocent babe, who perished along with an innocent woman, whose only fault was being loved by the god of the dead.

And Roger returned, not to reclaim his previous position, but for what not even those of the undead gods had dared to do: He traversed into the land of souls, a realm so far away from this place, in hopes to find his beloved family and hoping to bring them back.

Whitebeard had, not for the first time, cursed humans and what they had done to his friend. His anger had caused earthquakes that toppled the area where Roger supposedly lived in last and even disrupted the ongoing war, destroying troops and kingdoms until there was not enough left for a war to be had. Sakazuki had been displeased by his actions, but he refused to acknowledge the war god and all of his goading.

Until, at least, he began to raise hell on his own, inciting more wars than the last one Whitebeard had stopped. Villages and towns ran over by men the violent god had influenced, and even personally participate in. Even with all of his hatred towards the wretched beings, it still disgust Whitebeard on how much the other god had bragged about his achievement, killing human men with his bare hands, and even taking children’s life by spearing right through them.

The war didn’t last long, not by a god’s standard, but it took a lot out of Whitebeard by the end of it. Sakazuki only reminded him of Marco’s birth, the memory he would never be ready to relive again, and in the end, there was no real winner. He returned defeated, dejected and tired, as he wont to feel these days.

Then, suddenly, something seems to change overnight.

Everything had seemed so bright this entire year. The pang of loneliness and longing that Whitebeard was constantly plagued with, his constant reminder of Marco’s existence and his exile, suddenly turned to companionship and fondness, and in the end, much to his delight, it hard even turned to love and affection. The lands around Moby Dick had bloomed and prosper throughout those weeks, in recognition of what must’ve happened: At long last, after 2000 years of wandering, Marco had found someplace else to belong, another place or person who had given him what he had lost.

For the first time in so long, Whitebeard’s desperation to look into his pond and see his son was not only due to the yearning to once again see him, but to see him happy away from his family. He wished to see who was it that caused these joyful emotions and give them his blessing.

Yet, for all he wished this to be long lasting, there was a sudden fluctuation he hadn’t been expecting. Suddenly, there was pain. Pain that only seems to gradually increase with every passing day, a sign that Marco’s life could be in danger. And yet, at the same time, there is still the warm pulse of love, a wish for someone’s happiness. It grew stronger along with the agony, and along with it, Whitebeard’s worry.

Then, it all happen too fast.

Where it had been a day like usual, suddenly there is a torturous grip in the middle of his chest, as if he had been struck down by an invisible enemy. Around him, demigods, those he had come to view as his own, flocked in concern, throwing questions here and there and so palpably feeling helpless that it all overwhelmed Whitebeard. He feared telling them the truth: That their brother, the one they had lost, is so close to disappear from this world.

Whitebeard could feel the exact moment his son dies. In that very moment, standing in the middle of his court and surrounded by the rest of his children, he doubled over once again as he let out a mournful bellow that shook the earth itself. He willed the cold realisation of imminent death away the same time as he cursed that day several millennia ago, when he last saw the back of his beloved son and doomed him to this fate.

Marco dies with love and acceptance in his heart, the same love that had filled after centuries of loneliness and being directionless.

But even knowing that, it wasn’t enough to dampen the grief.

* * *

Scowling and with his fist balled angrily, Whitebeard stared down at the group of humans surrounded by his children, fearing perverse satisfaction at the apparent fear and wariness amongst them. One man, with a criss-crossing tattoo on one side of his face showed very little of such, and it was with an air of diplomacy that slightly impressed Whitebeard did he took a step forward, mindful of is surrounding, “The Earth God, Whitebeard, i presumed? It is with great honour that i am able to finally meet you,”

Whitebeard kept his silence, and was already half a mind decimating the group if he wasn’t intrigued by this man. He held himself differently from Marshall Teach, the last human to ever step on his courts, without an air of malice.

And there was also the fact that he could not be bothered. Ever since Marco’s death, it felt as if all of his power and stamina had been sucked out of him, and the god found himself more often than not isolating himself in the patio, overlooking his pond. For 2 long years he sat there, reminiscing out of the most the memory he both treasured and cursed of a much younger Marco uttering his wish in that same place. The wish that led to his demise.

At his silence, the human took another step, and quickly stepped backward when Vista aimed his swords to the man’s direction in a clearly threatening move, “Don’t you dare approach our father, _human_ ,” the demigod spat, and turned towards the silent god, “We should just kill them all off, Pops. That humans could find a way to get here is dangerous enough, we can’t risk anymore of them coming in—“

“Please, allow me to explain,” the human spoke again, voice even as if he didn’t have a sharp end of a sword pointed closely at him, “My name is Monkey D. Dragon, scholar, archeologist and enthusiast for the history of the older gods. It is through extensive research that i have conducted all my life that i could find this place, and now that i am here, the last thing i wish to do is to cause you any trouble,”

“Be quiet!” Haruta shouted from the side, his own sword extended closely to a human boy who has three of his own swords out, two in hand and one gripped between his teeth, “Like we’re going to get fooled again! Humans had caused nothing but suffering for us, you lot even took our brother—“ the half-dwarf’s breath hitched before he could get the last word out, which he shook of and continued as if nothing has happened, “We don’t want any excuses! We should just kill all humans after what you’ve done to our kind! To Phoenix!”

A quiet hitch of breath resounded from the midst of the humans, but as low as it was, it was deafening in the ensuing silence. Whitebeard’s tired eyes glanced over to the young man pushing back a younger boy back into the centre of the cornered group, something akin to recognition in his eyes as he turned towards Haruta. He watched as the young man’s hand moved down slowly to his waist, to where what looked like a small urn was attached to the belt, and tightly gripped it by the lid.

“But we haven’t done anything!” The young boy being held back by the mysterious young man protested loudly, even as the boy with three swords and a blond with swirled brow shushed him, “We’re just excited to meet the gods and the cool people those old books said would be here. And you guys are cool!”

“Luffy, not now,” another blond man, standing somewhere close by Dragon spoke in hushed voice, “Damnit, Ace, do something!”

It took the god a few moments to realize he was addressing the man with the odd urn, who barely seemed to hear him. Instead, his hold tightened around the urn yet again, so tight his knuckles are starting to turn white.

Pain gripped Whitebeard all of the sudden as he laid eyes on the urn. There was something inside of him, from a place that has been too quiet for the pass 2 years, which absence he felt strongly with every passing second, that grips him. A cacophony of voices started calling out for him, some followed by rage and declaration to quickly take care of their intruders. From his side, he could feel Jozu reaching him, asking if he was alright, but everything around him felt so distant, as if they were worlds away.

Whitebeard’s attention was only on one thing, the one thing that began to dawn on him like yet another burning stab in his chest.

_“You!”_ he bellowed angrily, and without thinking, loomed over the group of humans and single-mindedly aimed for the dark haired man, grabbing and lifting him with one hand. The rest of the humans called out his name in panic, the blond man and the young boy even leaping over to stop him if they weren’t stopped by Kingdew and Atmos’ greater bulk.

“Ace!”

“Ace! Drop him, you stupid god!”

Yet, unlike the rest of the humans, the one in Whitebeard’s hold was still, not petrified from fear but what could only be said is acceptance in his expression. Solemn and sorrowful, he was still as Whitebeard brought him to eye level, “That urn,” the god gritted, angry and unnerved by the silence this human gave him, “What is inside of it?”

The human - Ace, as that young dark haired boy kept screaming - took said object from his belt, and held it close to his chest. In this proximity, the pain grew even stronger, that Whitebeard grunted and bit the insides of his mouth at the intensity. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt like he already knew the answer. He knew the cause of this pain, and why it resonated with that item in the human’s possession.

Yet, there was still this inkling of rejection, of disbelief in him.

Until Ace looked back up, eyes shining with unshed tears and told him quietly, “I just want Marco to come back home,”

Marco. The name that had been a taboo for him for the last 2000 years, one that brings nothing but misery and regret.

Below them, there was a brief, shocked silence, that was broken by Thatch’s despairing gasp of, “Marco? D-did he say…. Marco?” his swords clattered loudly as his grip slackened, staring open mouthed at Ace. With wide eyes and gasping breath, he choked out, “That’s… that’s Marco? Our Marco?”

“You bastard! You little bastard!” come Izou’s banshee-like screech, staring in horror at the innocuous urn, “What have you done to Marco?! You killed him! You’re the one who killed him, didn’t you?!”

The tears on Ace’s eyes, held back at bay from sheer will, finally seems to fall as Marco’s brothers began calling and mourning him openly, realizing the fate of their brother. He held the urn even tighter against his chest, curling around it as if he was embracing another person.

For a second, the pain inside of Whitebeard loosened, and was replaced by the familiar wash of cool breeze. It reminded him of that day thousands of years back, of holding a small baby chick in his hand that adamantly tried to heal a palm larger than its own body. It felt soothing and calming, and it reached out to this young human, something that wasn’t him, one that held so much love for this strange creature.

Suddenly, all rage and pain for these humans seems to subside, and Whitebeard’s body and heart felt so heavy with turmoil.

In a soft voice that surprised even himself, Whitebeard spoke, “What was he to you, human? How is it that you come into possession of his remains?”

The tugging urge to comfort Ace became stronger, like a hand trying to extend towards this small, fragile, mortal body in his grip. Even in death, even perished, some of Marco still lingers, and it reacted to this human strongly.

And the same emotion was also evident in the human’s look, in the gentle way he caressed the urn, in the tears and soft, sorrowful smile, “They’re all i have left of him,” Ace whispered, “They’re all i have left of my husband,”

“Husband?! What kind of insolence—“ the noises below started again in shock, of Marco’s sibling obviously confused and lost by this new development, “Marco would never—! A human—!”

“It was all my fault. If only i had known what he was doing, if just told him harder that he was enough for me, then he wouldn’t have,” the dark haired human paused, unable to uttered the words, “He was my happiness, and i wish he would’ve understood that. Nothing he ever gave me would mean more to me than him himself and our time together. But he kept pushing himself, and i couldn’t stop him until it was too late,”

Salty tears fell on Whitebeard’s hand, as more and more of it pours out from those stormy grey orbs and down upon freckled cheeks. This human’s mourning was real, he could feel it resonating in him, closely mirroring his own. And where he could feel the wretched second where his son was lost to the world, he knew now that this had been the human who was by Marco’s side, the cause for that love he felt blooming after so long of pain and desperation for another place to belong, to the very end.

“It was always in Marco’s nature to bring happiness to others, especially to those he deemed worthy of it,” the god rumbles in a subdued manner, his grip around the human loosening as he deposited him to the other palm facing up. Ace fell on to his knee on his palm, still clutching the urn tightly against his chest, “The question is, why would he meant so much to you, human? Was it for what he was capable of? His nature?”

The tugging urge in his head became stronger and stronger with every rivulet of tears that fell, with every genuine sobs that shows a wound that has never truly healed even after what would be a long time for a human.

Humans have always been greedy, that he knew. Their seemingly never-ending lust for more has tainted his earth, and it had been their violent nature that drove those who has become his children to him. It was humans who had caused his friend to be lost and never heard from for 20 years, whose last words to him had been that of an almost farewell.

Once upon a time, he had thought them precious. Then, he had hated them for all the way they had wronged him. For everything they had done to his creations, stealing his son, for taking away his one friend, now lost in his own journey, and in the end, for taking his son’s life. He would never understood Marco’s once enthusiasm for them, or the words in Roger’s letter, explaining his disappearance.

Then, Ace looked back up to him, “Because i love him,” he uttered, and there was not a single lie that cold be found, that Whitebeard even felt, in those words, “And all i wanted was to give him just as much happiness as he had given me. If all he ever wanted was to come home, then i wanted to give that to him,”

But perhaps, right at that very moment, he could understand why they had both fallen so deeply.

No longer able to hold back, Whitebeard followed through with the insistent urge in back of his head and placed his other hand on Ace’s back, almost engulfing the entirety of the human’s height. With his pointer, he placed it between Ace’s head and shoulder, a comforting gesture, “If that’s what you feel, then he is home,” Whitebeard told him, “He was already home when he was with you,”

A shaky smile appeared on the dark haired human’s lips. He loosened his grip on the urn and placed it down on the god’s palm, unable to conceal the obvious reluctance, “Yet this is where he belonged, right here with his family,”

Hunching down, Whitebeard slowly lowered Ace back down to the floor, carefully helping the human off from his palm. Humans and demigods alike around them had fallen silent, all eyes on both the god and human who had found commonality in their love for the same entity. The earth god retracted his hand back, with the urn still in place, which he caressed the surface of the way Ace had done repeatedly.

“You are right,” he said again, staring back at red rimmed grey eyes, “His place is right here, with us,”

With a grand gesture, Whitebeard summoned the recesses of memory from thousand years back, of knowledge imparted to him by an apologetic friend for the sake of his wailing child. It was a fond memory he treasured and would recall in his darkest time, or the two who kept his loneliness at bay, who he thought he had lost for all eternity.

Dark burst of fire emerged from his hand, summoned from the bowels of the realm of the dead itself. Panicked brew under him, drowned in as the god spoke in a booming voice, “This is a fire from a dear friend of mine, the undying flame from the netherworld. To any living creature, this fire will take their soul away,” he brought both of his palms together, the one holding the urn underneath his flaming hand, “But to Phoenix, the bird of Life itself, this flame could only ever gives life,”

As he clapped his hands, the ground around him shook mightily, sending everyone in the vicinity off their feet.

Gasp of wonder mingled in the air as the fire burst into colour, wisp of sky blue flickering amongst the shadowy flame before it entirely consumed it. Whitebeard lowered his hand back to the ground and deposited the fire away, just a few steps in front of a wide-eyed Ace, as the fire gave another burst, brighter and bigger, the formless hurricane slowly gaining form.

The fire slowly morphs down, where one could see the outlines of a bird with its wings spread wide, flames descending into billowing feathers. Life began to pour back inside of Whitebeard, consciousness forming inside of that corner of his mind that has been desolate for too long. He felt it forming, rejuvenating him along as the bird slowly turned into another form, that of a human.

Smile bloomed on the god’s face as joy pours into every corner of his being, “Welcome back, my son,”

Shouts of surprise and of jubilation began to form around him, but none of them took his attention as much as Ace’s gratified cry of Marco’s name. In a split second, the dark haired human was back on his feet and sprinting over to Marco’s restored form, still and only slowly regaining his consciousness.

Whitebeard noted the dark fire that still surrounded the blond, and raised his hand to alarm Ace, “Wait, Ace, don’t get too close. The fire is still burning, it will kill y—“

To consumed as he is by his joy that Ace obviously couldn’t hear Whitebeard’s warning, and yet, none of it was even necessary. To his bewilderment, despite fearing for the worst, the god watched the mortal jumped straight through the still fiery blaze to enveloped his dazed, resurrected love, name chanted as if it was a mantra or a prayer.

“Marco!” Tears runs anew down his face, this time out of sheer joy, “Marco, it’s you, it’s really you!”

“…Ace?” Marco muttered, voice still groggy, but his arms were wrapped around the body clinging tightly on to him, and as recognition slowly returned, they tightened even more, “Ace. My love, oh, my love, it’s me,”

“You’re such a fucking idiot!” the vitriol is said with anguish, for all the affection and happiness that shone from the human as he pulled back just enough to trapped the demigod’s face in both his hands, pressing their foreheads close, “You made me lose you! You died and you left me all alone! I mourned for you, Marco! You promised me forever, and you left me!”

“I’m sorry,” Marco’s grip tightened even more, two beings wrapped so closely it doesn’t look like they could ever separate again, “I’m sorry for being such a fool. My moon, my sun, the very air that i breathe, my greatest delight,” every words were emphasis with a kiss, from the forehead to the temple, both cheeks, tip of the nose, and a brush to the side of the lips, “Are you still mine? Will you still let me fulfil my promise for an eternity with you?”

Marco’s words receive no reply other than the deep, searing kiss with the passion that burns hotter than even the otherworldly flames around them.

The display of reunited love, as well as the return of one of their own, had seemed to disperse any hostility. Whitebeard’s children began to voice out their excitement, surrounding the couple, and some, in their state of merriness, had even grabbed some of the confused humans they had drawn weapon on before to hug and dance along with. Dragon’s stoic expression finally gave way to befuddlement when Vista pulled him into a tight hug, before being let go when the demigod launched himself along with his siblings.

Before all of the, Whitebeard watched as the last of Roger’s flame finally died down to nothing, and silently observed the human in the middle of the pile of laughing and cheering demigods.

How had he survived that fire? He had seen Roger’s power, had known and feared what would’ve happened if any living being, never mind something as fragile as mortals even slightly grazed netherworld’s flames. And yet, he had passed them through like mist. It shouldn’t have happened.

Unless…

He took in the young boy’s features, the dark hair, and, as Namur pulled the Ace for a hug and accidentally pulling the collar of his shirt down, he saw the telltale sign of faded scar. He had seen that once before, the only other person Marco - Phoenix - had failed to fully heal.

Could it really be…? After all this time?

Even with the outpouring of Marco’s delight and happiness in his mind, one of Whitebeard’s own began to emerge for himself.

_Roger, are you still out there, dear old friend? Do you still scour your realm to search for the soul of the human woman you have fallen for? Do you still wonder of the fate for your beloved babe?_

_My dear friend, the Netherworld God, i may have found him…_

* * *

In the first time since the history of time itself, Temple of Moby Dick saw a celebration attended by both gods, demigods and humans, all mingling together as if there was no difference between them. Despite having all of his wishes granted, Dragon’s expression had remained unchanged, and he spent the entire feast sitting and pouring through records he had been given by Whitebeard, frowning heavily. Sabo, his right hand man and Ace’s brother, had assured him that the man is obviously beyond elated by this turn of event, which was easily seen through what was supposed to be a happy frown.

It was then Whitebeard also thought that maybe there are more mystery to these humans than he had previously thought.

In the midst of the merriment, Marco and Ace has yet to let each other go, hands always tightly holding on to each other. Marco had indulged Ace’s other brother, Luffy with all of his odd questions - including but not limited to eggs, nest and poop, to which the young boy was smacked on the top of his head by Ace - while Ace was busy juggling the attention of all of Marco’s siblings, all wanting to get to know the human who had captured their brother’s heart.

As much as Whitebeard wanted to involve himself, he was content in observing, revelling in the constant foreign emotion that has once again occupied him, the connection to his firstborn once again returning. He could feel Marco’s happiness to be back, his adoration in knowing Ace’s family and friends, and most of all, the love that pulsed through every time he even as much as look at Ace.

“But i’m still mad we didn’t get to see your wedding,” Luffy loudly announced, pouting at Ace’s affectionate chuckles, “Weddings are so fun! The last one i've been to was Robin and Franky's, and there’s so much good food and we get to party all night. You didn’t wait until me and Sabo are back,”

“Sabo and i,” Ace corrected, in that brotherly way that sounded like a familiar routine, “And i’m sorry, Luffy, but after Marco asked, we wanted to do it as soon as possible,” at this, he glanced to the blond man on his side, smiling and leaning back, almost nuzzling, “I wanted him all for myself quickly as possible,”

Marco kissed the back of his hand and temple, pulling Ace closer by his side, “A vow is simply a formality; i was already yours since that very first day you saved me,” he pressed a longer, sweeter kiss on the human’s lips, ignoring the cooing and jeering, “ _For better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love you and cherish you,”_

Ace’s gaze was full of warmth, that it felt almost intruding to gaze at them, but his smile slowly died, as he whispered, “ _Til death do us apart,_ ”

The crowd around them began to quiet down, as if sensing the sudden change in mood. Death has torn them apart, Marco’s return doesn’t erase the 2 years Ace spent grieving over a lost love. Marco’s hand tightened his hold around Ace, wishing to chase away his solemnity.

Whitebeard sat up straighter, gaining the attention of everyone in the room, “Perhaps,” he began amicably, “A new vow is in order, one that does not stop at the limitation held back by human customs. Come here, the two of you, stand before me,” the god gestured, and stood up from his seat at the end of the table.

Though visibly confused, both followed through with his request, stopping just before him, right in front of everyone. Whitebeard gestured for them to face each other, and as he stood between them, from the small titters on the table and the smiles that began to appear on the couple’s face, it would seem that they had began to see what he was trying to do.

“Dearly beloved, friends and family, we’re all gathered here,” it was fuzzy at best, but Whitebeard could recall the few times he had seen human marriage customs from his pond. Gods never had such ceremonies, as binding relationship means little to them, but this is different, “having bore witness to the reunion between two souls, and now, to once again bless their union in a holy matrimony,”

All activity halted in favour of watching the impromptu wedding, except for Luffy, who let out a loud whoop from where he sat and was quickly shushed by the green haired human next to him.

“What was once taken away has been returned,” he placed one hand behind Marco’s back, pushing him slightly to the front, “and we’ve learned that love, true love, goes beyond any boundaries,” he did the same to Ace, pushing both closer, “triumphing over descent, hardship, and even death,”

It had not mattered to Ace when he finally discovered Marco’s true nature, and Whitebeard has no doubt it would matter once he revealed to them Ace’s true heritage. Marco found his home again, in a human who had saved a helpless bird at the cost of his own pain. For his kindness, Ace gained said bird’s love and loyalty, until he gave his life away in return.

“I am Whitebeard, god of earth, ruler of the lands and the living, and with my blessing i bestow upon you an eternally blessed union, for the only thing that could truly separate you is the death of love itself,”

The next step, he remembered vaguely, was supposed to be where he allowed them to kiss. Before the first word could even left him, the kiss had already commenced, prompting swift reply from everyone else in the form of cheers and well wishes.

Whitebeard only laughed raucously, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, finally felt true happiness.

* * *

“So, you’ve had your suspicion of what he was?”

It felt almost nostalgic when in the middle of his usual nightly activity, imbibing himself by the pond, Marco suddenly strolled in and sat next to him. Whitebeard decided not to think about how long it has been since his son accompanied him in this spot, and instead offered him another cup. They had sat together in silence, soaking in this chance both thought was no longer within their reach once upon a time, but eventually, they began small talks, nothing significant, just relishing each other’s presence.

Until the topic of Ace’s parentage was brought up.

Marco nodded, silently taking a sip from the cup of ambrosia, “When i failed to heal him the first time, i was immediately reminded about what Roger said. I thought he had been a demigod whose power never manifested physically, closely related to the undead due to his incident,” he shook his head in disbelief, sighing, “I would never in a million years guessed that he’s actually Roger’s son,”

“The resemblance is too uncanny, but i don’t know for sure,” Whitebeard told him, “The only person who can know for sure is Roger himself,”

The bottom of the cup being put back down to the table cluttered loudly in the ensuing silence, “Marco,” the god called out quietly, “Today, i invited a slew of humans into my court, and even welcomed them to stay and rest amongst us. It would be highly hypocritical of me to keep up the law of your banishment,” he glanced to the side, catching his son staring at him, “This is still your home and you are always welcome to stay, no matter what the court of gods and Sengoku would have to say,”

In truth, he wanted to beg for forgiveness, for Marco to stay with them again.

And yet, deep down, he knows that those days were over. Nothing to do with Marshall Teach or his banishment, Whitebeard already knew he had lost his son truly the day he felt seeds of love for humans growing in his heart, that he was even determined in breaking godly laws for one. He himself had caused it the moment he created Marco.

So it didn’t even surprised him when Marco shook his head sadly, “Once upon a time, hearing those words is everything i ever wanted,” he said sombrely, “But i’m afraid, i have found someplace else i am needed and i wanted to be. You are still my father, and everyone here is still my brothers, but i have my own family now, Pops. And wherever Ace wanted to go, i will go with him,”

Whitebeard nodded, and even knowing it was coming, he would be lying if he say it didn’t cause him pain, “Promise to visit now and again at least. Bring Ace with you, he is as good as family now,”

Marco grinned, the gesture only making apparent the tears that he had been holding back at Whitebeard’s reaction, “Of course, Pops,”

* * *

With the hostile welcome they had received days before, it was odd how tearful the farewell were.

Dragon has expressed his gratitude for the materials Whitebeard’s hospitality, and promised to keep his discovery to the temple a secret. In return, the god allowed him to take back several artefact that held long undiscovered history of old gods and civilization yet unknown, which the man received with the most stern frown his face almost seems to crumple into itself.

His extremely happy face, as Sabo had dubbed it.

The last and the one to receive most goodbyes and promises to visit again was Marco and Ace, predictably, but so does Dragon’s son, Luffy, whose excitement for adventure had endeared all of the demigods with stories to share. On the last day of the expedition party’s stay, he had even declared, right there in the middle of dinner that he will start his own adventure party and visit all of the wonders he had been told about, before offering every demigod and humans if they wanted to join his crew.

From what Whitebeard had gathered, the green haired swordsman and blond chef had been instantly - forcibly - roped into this adventure crew, while Luffy’s own brothers promised to join in once they settled their own businesses; Sabo with his expeditions and research with Dragon, and Ace with his own search for his father.

Ace had been silent as Whitebeard revealed to him the possibility of the god of underworld as his father, as well as showing him the last letter Roger gave him via Rayleigh. It’s unknown whether or not Ace could survive being in the underworld realm - though his heritage should ensure that he is - but he had been determined to see the man at least once. And Marco was adamant in accompanying him.

As they delivered their final farewells to the humans, Whitebeard’s eyes were solely focused on Marco’s distancing back.

As his son turned around and grinned at him with a wave, he knew in his heart that this time, that won’t be the last time he sees him.

* * *

“These past few days as been so surreal,” Sabo quipped from where he laid on the ground, his notes and books full of text to translate now abandoned, “We get to meet gods, and demigods, and somehow Ace’s husband came back to life… wait, how the hell did that happen?”

As he said this, he sat up and turned to the two figures across the campfire, huddling closely despite the warm air.

Marco lifted his head from Ace’s shoulder, alert despite having dozed for a short while now, “Hmm? What was your question again?”

“You, like, what are you?” the younger blond waved his hand in a vague gesture, almost hitting Koala who sat by his head. The girl flicked him on the side of the face as a revenge, “The hell was with the whole fire show and all. You really died, right? And then that fire resurrected you? Are you a fire demigod of sorts?”

Marco only laughed, while Ace snorted, “You were the one who did research for this journey, and you still haven’t figure it out?”

“Well if Marco’s in any of the text i read, i sure haven’t seen it,” he rolled his eyes upward in a thinking gesture, “Nope, no man born out of flames or anything,”

“Well, first of all, he wasn’t even noted as a ‘man’,” Ace said, and rolled his eyes impatiently when Sabo - and Koala’s - eyes immediately went to Marco’s exposed chest, “And i know about this because _you_ were the one who kept sending me letters about ancient text books that talks about Marco. So yeah, Sabo, guess what, you might have studied your brother in law after all,”

If anything, the blond looks even more confused, “What are you talking about? The studies i sent you was mostly about— Phoenix!”

It only briefly startled Ace when the man next to him suddenly transformed into a giant bird, but he quickly adapted by curling both arms around long neck and surprisingly study body. All around them, there were a flurry of surprise that quickly died down. After days spent with what was once thought to be mythical beings, it would seem that nothing will surprise these people anymore.

“Sabo, meet your brother-in-law,” Ace told his wide eyed brother, while he can hear his other one quickly approaching and excitedly exclaiming ‘is that a chicken?!’, “Phoenix,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this whole ending sounds like a sequel hook.
> 
> It’s not. At least, i don’t think so.
> 
> But that's the end of 'Crane Wife re-telling, with the ending being my own spinoff i guess. Please tell me what you think, and thank you so much for sticking by so long, or, for those just reading, thanks so much for reading to this far! I hope you all enjoyed, and see you in the next updates/fic!

**Author's Note:**

> A trend i’m beginning to notice in my last couple of updates:
> 
> Me writing adult Marco: Could be serious could be laid back, may have sneaked in my own personal character trait preference, enigmaTM, general dreamboat description
> 
> Me writing baby Marco, may or may not be influenced by that absolute dork in chapter 963 onwards: Soft baby, little baby, precious little bird baby
> 
> -
> 
> Make your predicting bets on what’s going to happen in the comments, folks, and tell me what you think. If you like it, if something's unclear, if maybe i shouldn't have dumped so much lore rather unrelated to what the main story/pair itself is, but consider that i also like expanding on unnecessary details, i am so sorry. 
> 
> Any way, hope you liked it!


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